Tormented
by Madame Wesker
Summary: Wesker doesn't care about anyone but himself...or at least that's what he keeps telling himself


**so this is my first post and i hope i'm doing it right. this is a little short setsomewhere in the middle of the epic i have planned. i wasn't able to publish with my old phone but now i'm ready. all feedback is appreciated. i try to keep wesker as authentic as possible in my AU. Thanks for reading. :)**

"Whore!" He growled, ripping off his shades. He had walked in the door, radiating menace. The woman had set her book down beside her on the couch when she saw him. She went to stand but in a blur he was before her, eyes glowing unholy red, jaw taut, eyebrows furrowed. "My lord..." she started gently. "Silence!" he slapped her, knocking her from the couch. She gasped and lowered her head. With his impressive height towering above her, she felt so very small and helpless. She took a deep breath, readying herself for his wrath. Slowly, so as to not provoke him, she wiped the blood from her mouth. The moment he saw blood, he attacked.

He reached down, grabbing her by the jaw, lifting her above the oriental carpet. "Do you know how much I despise you?" he spat. His face twisted into that horrible snarl, his eyes like crimson lakes of fire. Even through the leather she could feel how hot his hands, normally so cool, were. She thought to herself that this was it, she had crossed too far over the line, and he would finally kill her now. "My lord..." she pleaded. A disgusted sneer replaced the snarl and he threw her across the room, into the closet door. She lies crumbled before the walk in closet, hand holding her waist. Every breath is sudden torture and she wonders what has broken. He walks to her, a smirk forming across his cruel mouth. She avoids his gaze at all cost. Knowing that if she looks, like a basilisk, he will freeze her to the ground. On hands and knees, eyes to the floor, she crawls away. Like a big cat he stalks behind, letting her keep a lead. He begins to taunt her, amusement in his voice as he walks slowly behind her. "Where are you going?" "Does it hurt?" "Do you really think you can escape me?" Suddenly, he laughs an empty laugh. It is cold; it is merciless. It is the laugh of demons at play. "You are mine, little one." Breathing heavily, she turned to face him. She braced her back against the wall and looks at him. Recognizing the cream and burgundy walls, she realizes she has crawled into his bedroom. Panic stitches itself across her face; she lets out a low moan. "Please..." she whimpers. She doesn't see him coming; only feels the vise grip wrap around her throat that slams her head into the wall. Eyes out of focus, head and chest throbbing she barely comprehends as the vise begins to close; cutting off her air.

Her eyes are squeezed shut. Her long nails dig into his forearm, knowing she could ream the skin off and he would not be moved. She is trying to suck in what little air she can before he inevitably snaps her neck. She knows she has offended a god and a god's ego is a hellish thing to wound. "Look at me…"it's a whisper in her ear, in her mind. The subtle caress of wind on a summer day; it is soothing and gentle and deceitful.

The vise grip slackens so she opens her eyes, stares into crimson pools burning that look as if they could catch fire. She coughs slightly and is surprised that he seems almost happy. A slight smirk plays across his lips. He tilts his head to catch her face in a new angle. His nostrils flare; catching the smell of amber. His mouth parts; his tongue wets his lips. His smirk turns cruel as with his other hand he grabs the collar of her shirt and rips it off. The woman gasps, or tries to; he stifles it with a squeeze. Staring into her eyes with that damning smirk he rips her clothes off.

In silence, with his hand around her throat and her clothes at her feet, she stares up at him. She shakes as if cold. He hopes it is fear. "On your knees." he growls. Throat burning, ears ringing, chest aching; she complies. She hears him let out a deep chuckle and a zipper slides down slowly.

She shakes her head, disbelieving. It only seems to upset him more. What was amusing has turned to irritation. He grabs her by the hair and pulls her to the bed. "No… no." she whispers. He only laughs that soulless laugh and throws her across the bed. She turns quickly, scurrying backwards. She pulls a pillow tight against her nakedness, hoping to hide from his sight. She's shaking her head and all she says is 'no' over and over again.

He is amused again; the half smirk is back and his eyes burn fierce. He crawls across the bed after her. "Run rabbit run." he whispers and reaches for her. "Please…'she moans, tears welling up in her eyes. His smirk becomes a smile as he yanks the pillow from her. "Where is your faith little one?" He grabs her leg and pulls her to him, she tries to fight him but he is impossible to resist. She is no match for his strength.

He is kneeling on the bed, he pulls her to him. Face down and struggling she ends up between his legs. He chuckles and straddles her ass. She freezes as she feels something hard and thick against her. Oh dear god she thinks. Laughing he flips her over, nudges her legs apart. She tries to squirm away and a leather hand wraps around her throat. She looks at him, bewildered. He is no longer amused, his face is deadly serious now and her heart begins to race.

Two leather fingers, warm from the heat of his rage traces her lips softly. She gasps and pulls away. His hand uncoils from her throat, presses on her chest, holding her down. The fingers return to her lips. Up and down they caress her slit before slipping into her warmth. She tries to pull away but to no avail; he keeps her pinned, to do with as he wishes. He circles her tiny bud gently, slowly; coaxing it open. She tries to press her thighs close but he will have none of it; he nudges her thighs with his knees. Growing impatient he presses two fingers into her, only to hear her squeal and sob. Looking down at her, remembering his anger now he begins to fuck her hard with leather clad fingers. He leans down to growl in her ear. "Is this what you wanted? Is this what you've always wanted?" Her body shakes, she sobs, she twists and turns, her body arches as well as possible under the weight of his hand. She screams as she cums and he releases her, releases himself and dives in before the shocks have left her body.

She screams again as his heavy length sits fully inside her. She feels like she's splitting apart. He gives her the briefest of respite before he pulls out and slams back in; furiously.

His hands around her throat leave black bruises; his hands at her hips leave purple bruises. Her thighs take the trauma of a god's hunger. She sobs as she cums; ashamed of what he is able to do to her.

Some time in the past hour she had dared to unbuckle his collar and unzip his shirt. Amazingly, he had allowed it.

She is on the verge of passing out, she is exhausted and covered in their sweat. She has cum so many times she feels like there is hardly any fluid left anywhere in here body. Still, he continues… He cums and continues…'Damn him and his stamina, she thinks, 'tomorrow I'll hardly able to walk.'

His eyes are glazed as he continues thrusting into her. Almost an hour later and he is still in frenzy, moaning, growling. His hands slipping across her bruised body, teeth biting deeply into her shoulder, mouth hot on hers, fingers pinching her nipples exquisitely. She buries her nails deep into his back, drags them hard. A god throws back his head and unleashes an ungodly howl. All his moans, all his groans are nothing to this. It vibrates into her soul and she closes her eyes, letting it wash over her.

He falls onto her, satisfied and buries his face in her neck. For a moment, silence except his ragged breathing. "Goddamn you woman, why must you torment me?" he whispers in her ear. The woman sighs and runs her hands up his already healing back. It's the closest she'll ever get. "I love you too Wesker."


End file.
